


a home's a heavy burden

by maraanan



Category: Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Lance, Gen, let lance and yellow be friends 2k18, sorry lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 09:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16447082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraanan/pseuds/maraanan
Summary: Lance goes home.





	a home's a heavy burden

Lance goes home.

Except it’s never really been his home—he’d often pondered on the word, its meaning and inticracies. Is it Blackthorn, the harsh city that trained him? Viridian, the forest he’s always loved? What about the lonely caves he’s found solace in when the world was against him? Could he have more than one home? Could he have none, forsaken by all the places unforgetting of his sins?

Lance shakes his head as he steps into the Gym.

Clair is wide-eyed when she sees him. She wells up in tears, and attacks him with a tight hug. Lance pats her back, not knowing what to do. When was the last time anyone hugged him?

“You—“ Clair starts, “You’re—“

“—Home,” Lance finishes. “I think.”

“You think?” Clair says, punching his arm. Lance rubs it, frowning.

 

Their grandfather takes in Lance’s return easily.

“Very well,” he says. “I am retiring soon. You shall be the next Dragon Master.”

Lance blinks from where he and Clair are sitting on their knees. “Yes, Grandfather.”

Clair is in an uproar. “But Grandfather—“

The Master holds up a hand. “Lance is the eldest and the strongest,” he says. “He is the only fit for the next Dragon Master.”

A lifetime ago, when they were tiny children, Lance and Clair would play Dragon Master. They always took turns. But Clair relished in it more. She loved being the leader, the commander. Lance has known this from the very beginning.

He doesn’t look her way.

 

“This is great,” Clair says, a forced smile on her face. They’re at the pond they used to play in. Lance is sitting by the water, and Clair is pacing back and forth. “This is fantastic. You’re going to be the next Dragon Master, and probably the youngest, too. I’m so happy for you, cousin.”

Lance leans into his chin. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s great. It’s fantastic.”

Clair stops. “You don’t sound too happy.”

“What are you talking about? I am happy,” Lance says. “I am, objectively, happy. This is supposed to make me happy. This is what happy feels like.”

It feels like he’s saying it to himself.

Clair sits beside him. “Something’s up.”

Lance doesn’t answer.

“Hey,” Clair says, nudging him. “You can tell me anything, remember? We pinky-swore.”

Lance sighs. “I just don’t think a Dragon Master has ever tried to commit genocide before.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “Oh.”

 

Lance is taking out his Dragonite. He is mounting him. He is holding on. He is—

“Where are you going?”

Clair looks betrayed.

“I—“ Lance says, “I don’t want to be Dragon Master.”

Clair’s face scrunches up. “So you’re just going to run away?” The word again? goes unsaid, but Lance hears it all the same.

“It’s not running away if I’m going home,” Lance says.

“What?” Clair says. “This is your home! They raised you!” Clair huffs. “You raised me!”

“I can’t,” Lance says. “I can’t, I can’t stay here.” It’s too cold and the trees don’t have enough leaves and everything is harsh and rigid and strong.

Lance is so tired of being strong.

“Then where are you going?” Clair pleads.

“Home,” Lance says.

He tells Dragonite to fly.

 

They land in a clearing just on the outskirts of the forest.

“Thank you, Dragonite. Rest well,” Lance says, withdrawing his Dragonite into its Pokeball. He sighs, and scouts the area. He can hear the soft rush of a stream, which means they’re far from the public entrance and exits of the forest. Good.

It’s been a long time. Lance walks in a circle, breathing it all in. The forest is so alive, so unlike Blackthorn. He can hear the far-away buzzing of Beedrill, the clicking of bugs. The shaking of leaves in the wind.

Barely in his line of sight that he almost doesn’t catch it is a dirt path he knows all too well. Lance freezes. Would his old house still be standing there? Would his old things, his old bed, still be in the same place? The piano that his mother played, and the wooden floors he danced his bare feet raw on?

He takes the path.

It’s still there. The dainty little house that looked like a doll’s. Strange, there are lights on. Lance steps closer and he hears voices, laughter. With a tilted, curious head Lance gingerly pushes open the front door. It creaks. The voices stop.

In his old living room there are children. No, not children—teenagers. They’re surrounded by streamers and balloons, and in the middle is a birthday cake.

Before the cake is a face he knows too well.

For a moment Lance and the teenagers stare at each other. “You’re breaking and entering,” Lance says.

“You’re breaking and entering!” says one of the teenagers, a brown-haired girl.

Lance steps forward, taking in his old home. The paint is peeling in some corners, but for some reason it’s not dusty. “It’s not breaking and entering if it’s my house,” he says.

“Your house?” says the black-haired boy, eyes wide.

“Well, I’m actually only assuming, but legally who else would my parents leave it to?” Lance says, shrugging.

“We’re sorry!” Yellow says. “This house has been abandoned for a while, so we thought it was okay to have a party here…”

“It’s all right,” Lance says, surprised at his own cool. He’s just shocked that the first words out of her mouth—yes, _her_ mouth, apparently—aren’t _you tried to kill me!_ “Actually, may I join you?”

The four teenagers blink at him. Before they can come to some sort of agreement, Yellow chirps up, “Sure!”

“Yellow! We can’t just let him…” says the brown-haired boy.

“Why not?” Yellow says. “He helped with the Arceus thing, right?” She stands up and pulls out a chair for him. Lance sits. It’s not his chair, the chair he sat in the dining table growing up, but his father’s chair, the chair he never thought he would sit on.

All three teeangers sans Yellow are eyeing him warily.

“Come on, guys, we’re in his house,” Yellow says.

“Wait,” Lance says. “If it’s your birthday, then…”

Yellow smiles. “Then it’s your birthday too,” she says. “Happy birthday, Lance.”

Lance blinks. “Happy birthday, Yellow.”

She pushes the cake, with its flaming candles, towards him. “Make a wish?”

Lance shakes his head. “It’s your cake.”

“I insist. We’re intruding on your home,” Yellow says. “Make a wish!”

Lance considers. He looks at the cake. It says HAPPY BIRTHDAY, but clearly it’s not for him. But is now? The owner just gave it to him. He closes his eyes, thinks of a wish, and blows.

Yellow claps. “Yay!” When her friends don’t clap, she tries to convince them. “Come on, guys, it’s his birthday, too.”

 

Yellow’s friends leave soon, after they deem Lance as not a threat. Lance and Yellow sit on the front porch steps.

“I’m,” Lance starts. “Sorry.”

Yellow smiles. “Hm?”

“That I tried to kill you,” Lance says slowly. “And… everyone else on the planet.”

Yellow laughs. “Well, you’re different now, so it’s okay. All in the past.”

Lance looks in the distance, and sighs. “I hope so,” he says. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What did you want to be when you grow up?”

Yellow looks at him. “What did I want to be…?” she says. “Oh! I wanted to be an artist. Still do, really. I practice drawing really hard!”

“That’s nice. That you have a dream,” Lance says.

“Don’t you?” Yellow says.

“I,” Lance starts. “Recently I got an offer. One might say a very good offer. But I turned it down, because I don’t know what I want to do in life. I’ve spent so many of my years just hating and being angry, that when I try to think about it now… I don’t remember my dreams. I don’t remember what I wanted to be when I grew up. I don’t know what I want.”

“I’m sorry,” and Lance can feel the empathy behind her words.

“Thank you for listening,” Lance says.

“Isn’t it strange? A few years ago we were in this epic battle against each other, and now we’re having a simple heart-to-heart,” Yellow says.

“I wouldn’t call it a heart-to-heart,” Lance says.

“It is a heart-to-heart, Lance, just accept it,” Yellow says, smiling.

Lance gives her a tiny smile back.

“There you are!”

Clair is stomping towards them. Lance stands. “Clair,” he says.

“Lance,” Clair hisses. “What are you doing here?”

Lance turns to Yellow. “Let me talk to her.” He walks towards Clair, and steers them behind a tree. “Clair, I’m sorry for running.”

“You better be! Do you know what Grandfather has been like when you left? He’s furious!” Clair says.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says. “But I think my absence in Blackthorn would do more good than bad.”

Clair raises a brow. “How so?”

Lance sighs. “Well,” he says, “who would be next in line for Dragon Master if I weren’t available?”

Clair blinks at him. She slaps his arm. “Don’t talk like that, Lance!”

“I know you want it!” Lance says. “It’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted. I know that, Clair.”

“The title is supposed to go to the eldest and strongest—“

“And if that’s me, then I decline,” Lance says. “You can tell that to Grandfather. I’m staying here. Besides, I think I’ve made a new friend.” He looks back at Yellow. Yellow notices, and waves at him. He gives a small wave back.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” Clair says quietly.

“I want you to be happy,” Lance says. “And if I’m being honest, I’m doing it for myself, too. I need to figure out what I want to do with my life.”

“Okay,” Clair breathes out. “I’ll tell Grandfather.” She embraces him. “I love you, Lance. You’re a brother to me.”

Lance hugs her back. “I love you, too.”

Lance and Yellow watch Clair fly away on her Pokemon. They wave her goodbye, and she gives them a tearful wave back.

“Well,” Yellow says. “What now?”

“I don’t know,” Lance says. “Maybe I’ll go to school. Celadon has a university.”

“That’s great!” Yellow says. “I hope you figure things out, neighbor. You’re staying here now, aren’t you?”

Lance smiles. “I guess I am.”

He guesses he’s home.


End file.
